shut up you carrot

sophies-sideshow  asked:

Fic titlefor zoop bc im trash: "Fairest and Fallen" gud luk

The Fairest and the Fallen (and those who followed)

Judy wanted to be a Knight.

Nick wanted to be left alone.

Neither would really get what they wanted.


Here. Take my messy excuse of a story! I needed some practice between writing practicum and this is what I could come up with! It’s a little… nonsensical. But it’s the cause of sleepless nights, grad school, and a test tomorrow morning that I haven’t nearly studied enough for.

Enjoy!


He is a thief, and she is a…

She is what she is. And she tells him, as she waves a sword in his face, that she’s a knight.

“A knight, huh?” He scoffs, and jingles the cuffs she’d ceremoniously slapped onto his wrists. They were rusted and red, and he hoped that whatever that was wasn’t blood but he had a sneaky suspicion-

She breaks him from his reveries. “You’re coming with me.” The daggers at her belt aren’t tied correctly, and they clink together when she turns on her heel. “The King has an order out for you. First knight to bring you back gets the reward.”

“First Knight.” He followed her, falling into step cheerfully. “I don’t think he said First Bunny. Do you get cuteness points or something?”

She spun round, and her sword was back. Held incorrectly, he noted. One swat of his paws and that thing would go flying halfway across the little crushed shell path they were standing on. He smiled, giving his reflection on the blade a little how-do-you-do. “Don’t” she intones, “call me cute.”

“Fine. Adorable. Endearing. Small and fluffy. Doesn’t matter. You’re still all of the above. And Knight hardly qualifies.”

She looks like she wants to cut him down. He doubted she could. But. Still. The look was almost enough. Then, with a haughty little puff of air, she collected herself up. The seashells under her feet rattled when she began to walk again. “Just… let’s go. I don’t have time for this.”

“Two weeks walk to the King’s. You’ve got plenty of time for me, Fluff.”

He’s right. And she’s regretting it dearly.

Keep reading

Liar Liar~ Chapter 6

Genre: Mafia AU

Pairing: Reader/Jungkook.

Others Characters in Chapter:  Jin, Yoongi, Jimin (Mention of Minah), Taehyung

Length:  7146 words

Warning: Swearing, Violence, Intimacy

Summary: The love of your life wasn’t who he claimed to be

Part: 6/?

“Don’t worry Orange. I don’t plan on telling your maniac boss that my fake  boyfriend  killed his fake girlfriend. I’m not stupid.” Jimin opened his mouth to  reply,when another voice, a cold harsh ,distant voice, spoke out from the  darkness, making me and Jimin freeze on the spot.

“That’s not going to be a problem y/n. Because now I know”.

Keep reading

The Spoon
  • Sherlock: *desperately ruffles his hair, waving a plastic spoon* Okay. How about I pretend it's a police car racing to the scene of a crime?
  • Baby Holmes: *in her high-chair, blinking at him*
  • Sherlock: *hopeful* Or Dad-da and Uncle John running to solve a crime?
  • Baby Holmes: *giggles*
  • Sherlock: *pouts; defeated* Mama and Dad-da working?
  • Baby Holmes: ...
  • Sherlock: *exasperated* Oh come on, you eat for your mother! *talking to himself* How? How does she do it? *glances at the baby food* Substitute it for chocolate? Sprinkle it with fairy dust?
  • Baby Holmes: *lifts her arms* Dad-da...
  • Sherlock: *hesitates* No, you need to eat this or you'll get me into trouble.
  • Baby Holmes: *pouts* Cuddles, Dad-da.
  • Sherlock: ...
  • *LATER*
  • *lying in bed*
  • Sherlock: *smug* I figured out your secret. How you get Scarlett to eat her dinner every night. And you thought I wouldn't get it.
  • Molly: *snuggles up to him* Oh, well, it was nice while it lasted. I thought I hid it well, too.
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: Hid...it?
  • Molly: *yawns* Scarlett's favourite spoon. The only one she'll eat from.
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: Ah.
  • Molly: *sleepy* What?
  • Sherlock: *shrugs* Well, unless baby food is harmful to adults, we have nothing to worry about.
July - 3:54pm

“But a question of etiquette - are you a crunchy or smooth peanut butter kind of girl?” - Matty, raising a jar in each hand, a glint in his eye accompanied with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. And you can only assume he’s making some sort of innuendo.

You blink, passively - an exasperated sigh, “Matty, I don’t know what that means.” 

Taking his hand - tugging him from the aisle, impatiently. Grocery shopping with Matty was basically grocery shopping with a five year old. Cursing George for leaving you alone to do it. You and Matty had spent the weekend at his Mum’s, and George had asked you pick up stuff for dinner on your way home.

Of course - Matty had grumbled, asking why George couldn’t just do it himself, he was the designated chef, after all. And what had he even been doing all weekend anyway, apart from smoking and having an hourly wank. 

But - Matty was easily tamed with a mention of tequila and wine, and the promise to make sangria tonight. 

Now, Matty’s dragging you down the confectionery aisle, dropping Haribo jellies, M&M’s, marshmallows, an array of other sweets into the basket. An actual five year old. He’s whining now about how you should’ve gotten a trolley, you roll your eyes. Habitually, when the three of you went food shopping - it would be in the later hours of the night, when the store was basically vacant. Matty would clamber into the bottom of trolley, letting you and George pile everything on top of him. 

“Matthew, I’m not pushing you around in a trolley in the middle of the fucking day - you’re a fully grown man,” - A pout, you smirk, your gaze drifting over him, struggling to reach a bottle of chocolate syrup on the top shelf, giving himself a boost from the lower shelf. “okay, a shorter than average, but still a fully grown man.”

An incredulous look, scoffing, eyes narrowing, pointing the bottle at you - “I’ll have you know, darling, that I am five fucking eleven,” Lips curving, a smirk, “and there is nothing smaller than average about me.”

A laugh, shaking your head, tugging him along, a teasing tone - “Alright, shrimpy.”

A defiant sound, hand flying out in matty-esque outrage, “Shrimpy? I am not a fucking shrimp, you just wait - oh shit, m’sorry, love.

Cutting himself off, hand knocking a box of baby formula milk out of a passing woman’s grip. She’s sighing, insisting it’s okay, too busy trying to quieten her seemingly distraught baby girl sat in the front of her trolley. Matty ducking down to retrieve the container, the baby grabbing a fistful of his curls - screeches of despair turning to delight. 

“Oh my, aren’t you a cute little idiot.” - straightening back up, cooing, pulling faces, eliciting more screeches, bubbles of laughter - her hands outstretched, reaching for his hair again. 

The mother - the young, blonde, looks-like-she-could-be-a-part-time-victoria’s-secret-model mother, looks on, doe eyed. Her hand on his upper arm, profusely thanking him, speech heavily accented. A loud laugh at whatever he’s just said, your eyes narrowing slightly - okay, hop off blondie. 

Engaging in conversation with her for a few minutes, eyes wandering back to you, calling your name - telling you to come look at the “cutest fuc - fudging baby he’s ever seen.” - Scandinavian Victoria Secret model wannabe giggling at his save on the curse word. 

Her eyes meeting yours as you approach, all warm smiles, gushing about how lucky you were, how much of a lifesaver Matty was - because Audrey, the baby, hadn’t settled down since she stepped foot inside the supermarket. And you nod and try to smile, hoping it’s not coming out as a grimace. 

Mah - Mah,” - the baby pipes up, sudden - a change from her non consistent babbling, and it’s when she repeats it again that Matty looks down in wonderment, adornment. “Did she - is she trying to say my name?”

He’s attempting to coax it out of her, sounding out his name. Not properly, with his accent he’s completely missing the t’s - “Ma-hee”  and he’s nodding his head each time he says it, curls bouncing. Her hands reaching for his hair, legs kicking in excitement - shrieks, “Mah.. Mah.. Ma-eeee!

A triumph grin splitting across Matty’s face, he’s clapping, Scandinavian blondie is clapping, eyes alight - shifting between Matty and her kid, the baby clapping, animated giggles, repeating, “Ma-eeeee!”

And you’re clapping along, because the scene is too unbearably cute, and also the fact that you’ve never seen Matty cooing over anything other than puppies or George.

Blondie is gushing about what an excellent dad Matty would make someday, shooting him a wink and warning to to keep a hold on him, when her phone buzzes. Announcing it’s her husband here to pick her up, giving your arm a squeeze, thanking Matty once more and telling Audrey to say bye to him. 

Ma-eeee.” - a final shriek, Matty waving as they round the corner. Turning back to you,still in a doting tone, “She was well cute.”

You, quirking a brow, an amused smirk - “The baby, or the mum?”

A chuckle, arm draping around your shoulders - “C’mon babe, you have to admit, she was proper fit.”

Bluntness, you scowl, his lips tilt, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and middle finger - pressing a chaste kiss to your pouted lips.  Humming in thought, chucking celery, an avocado into the basket, “But you know she did get me thinking,” he pauses - carrots in hand, eyes meeting yours, a playful glint - “that we’d make pretty fucking cute babies. We should have a baby.”

A laugh, shaking your head. “Babe, I wouldn’t leave a child in your presence for five minutes, you -”

“Hungarian Sports Illustrated model mommy disagrees,” a singing smug tone interrupting. “she seems to believe I’d be an excellent father so shut up you.” - Pointing the carrots at you.

Rolling your eye, his arm back around your shoulders - “No, listen - think about it, the basic rules of physics, biology, whatever - science, prove that incredibly cute babies come with one stunningly, other worldly attractive, Beyonce complex parent, aka me,” bringing the hand holding the carrots to his chest before tossing them back to the shelf. “and the other parent is mildly, borderline fit, aka you. It’s the perfect balance.” 

Pinching your cheeks between his fingers again when you try to protest. Digging an elbow into his ribs instead, drawing a hiss from him, “Jesus! Why and how are your elbows so fucking sharp? Fucking hell, bloody weapons. Why are you constantly battering me?”

“Why are you constantly an arsehole?” you, retaliating. Walking towards the checkouts, you look into the basket for the first time, a frown. It’s filled with sweets, chocolate, crisps, red wine, brandy, tequila, and little to no actual food. 

“Matty, we were supposed to get actual food for dinner, what the fuck is this?” - an aggravated expression, because Matty was the one who had loaded the basket up with utter junk crap.

A scoff - “What are you on about? There’s plenty of fucking actual food, look we have an avocado, cheese, peanut butter, a lemon - wait no that’s for the sangria - okay, celery, garlic bread… bloody hell, stop looking at me like that - George is the self acclaimed chef, he can sort something out - we have a baby to make.”

You glare - “Matty, we are not having a baby!”

And he’s shrugging, getting in the queue for the checkout, “Well shit we might, I’m like.. 95 percent sure we’re out of condoms, and it’s not like I can even rob any off G, ‘cause he’s apparently gone celibate now and all.”

Defiant, you cross your arms over your chest, “Then I guess we’re joining him on the celibacy front.”

Matty’s matching your glare, lips attempting to suppress an amused smirk, rolling his eyes and stalking off to go grab some condoms - muttering under his breath, something about how he only came to have a good time and he’s feeling so attacked right now.

Skipping across the car park, in pursuit of Matty, carrying one of the shopping bags, he carries the other. A low wolf whistle as you approach, lips tilting at the shorts he’s wearing, ending just above his knees - Louis’. You had only ever seen Matty wearing shorts a handful of times. Matty had only brought one pair of jeans with him to his Mum’s, and he had managed to spill gravy all over them at dinner yesterday.  Leaving him to have to borrow something off of his little brother. 

He turns upon hearing your whistle, jaw set, cigarette between his lips, holding up a finger to you - “Do not..”

And you laugh, shrugging, a wink - pressing into his side, singing into his ear, “And he’s got his shorts on - she says babe, you look like a twat, you look-”

A chuckle, arm slinging around your shoulders, “You’re a right little bitch sometimes, y’know that?” pulling the sunglasses from atop your head and putting them on himself, “But you’re my bitch, and I love you, bitch.”

“I ain’t never gonna stop loving you, shrimpy.” - taunting, hooking an arm around his waist. He scowls, giving your ponytail a yank. 

Honey, we’re home!” 

Matty, bursting through the front door of the flat. And it’s almost comical the way he stands in the living room, arms outstretched, waiting for the usual George tackle welcome - taking a few seconds to realise it’s not happening - George is nowhere to be seen. A frown, dropping the shopping bags onto the couch - calling out, G? - Disappearing into the kitchen.

Your brow furrows, walking past his bedroom door, noticing it’s shut tight, stopping. Listening, a faint groan from the other side of the door - a brief streak of panic shooting through you, initially thinking something had happened and it was a groan of pain. Until you hear it again, and a third time - accompanied, intertwined with a softer sound this time round. And you gasp, the sounds suddenly clicking, a whispered, “No fucking way.”

You hiss for Matty, trying to stay as quiet as possible. He reappears in the kitchen entrance, chewing on a strawberry lace, you - holding a finger to your lips and motioning for him to come here. He just gives you a look, raising a brow. You sigh, forming a circle with your pointer finger and thumb with one hand, then repeated shoving your index finger of your other hand through the circle, jerking your head towards George’s door.  

Again, it’s almost comical how fast his eyebrows shoot up once he understands what’s going on, and how quick he’s across the room, ear pressed to George’s door, mouth falling agape once he hears the same noises you had. Except they’re growing louder now. You both exchange a glance, eyes wide. And Matty’s mumbling - “Oh thank God, finally - yes G baby, get in there.”

You or Matty for the life of you, couldn’t even remember the last time George had brought a girl round, let alone get laid in the flat. And George had blamed you two for that, Matty declaring that that was bollocks, insisting George was just afraid of sex. 

The noises - groans, moans, whimpers, mattress squeaking - are growing louder, you managing to pry Matty away from the door, holding his hand to his heart and muttering about how proud he was. 

The novelty of George finally getting laid, however, wears off after a few minutes. Now you and Matty are sat on the living room floor, backs against George’s bean bag,shoulder to shoulder, Attempting to suppress giggles, passing the bottle of tequila Matty had opened in celebration, back and forth. Shoving M&M’s into each other’s mouths, mocking the noises drifting from George’s room. 

“Yes! George.. Harder!” - Matty, accentuating shrill moans, head falling back against the bean bag. Lips curving, giggles. You’re mimicking George’s deep, guttural groans - lips by Matty’s ear  - “Fuck, s’good, baby.. so tight.” 

And it continues, echoing their noises between the two of you - and it’s when a crescendo starts to build, screams, and George refers to himself as Daddy, that Matty’s head falls against your shoulder, spluttering tequila over your shirt. Silent laughter raking through the both of you, gripping onto each other.

A few seconds later - it’s quiet, you and Matty calming, footsteps from the room, you both scramble for the kitchen - knowing George would be pissed once he found out. Matty pushing you against the wall beside the entrance of the kitchen, finger to your lips telling you to shush, and you’re telling him to shut up because he’s the one giggling. 

He peers around the entrance frame once he hears George’s door creak open, nodding in approval as he watches the girl walking across to the bathroom, adorned in George’s shirt. “She’s fit.” - he informs, and you’re craning your neck to get a glimpse, when George exits his room. Matty squeaks, you both snapping your heads back, silent giggles. 

George’s brow creases, standing at the foot of his door when he notices the living room floor, littered with scattered M&M’s, a half empty bottle of tequila, and it clicks immediately, a grimace appearing over George’s features as he calls out for the two of you.

Matty’s shaking his head, the two of you barely able to breath, and it’s when George pokes his head though the doorway an crosses his arms over his chest once he finds you both, an impassive glare - is when the cackles start, on the verge of tears. Matty managing to get out a choked - “Hey, Daddy.”


A/N: I’m really not sure what this is - it started as a prompt from an anon wanting Matty and his girl to overhear G with another girl and this is apparently what happened. 

Winter Writing Challenge #1 ("Castiel" & "Bouquet")

(It’s winter for me, okay?)

I’m a little late on this, but it’s better late than never!
I’m on my phone and have like no internet so excuse the crappy format that I’m using.

If you haven’t noticed, I’m using my own little generator. :D From what I’ve seen, it seems like every writer has an own personal challenge so I didn’t see a problem. Anyway, enjoy!

•——————————•
[Castiel x Candy one-shot]

“Castiel” & “Bouquet”:

•——————————•

Everyone cheered as Leigh swept Rosalya off her feet, carrying her down the altar. Her grin was split right across her face, showing the dimples she would normally try to hide. But not today; today Rosalya was a princess and no facial feature would take away her happiness that easily.

Candy was perhaps the only female not to have crowded around Rosalya as she prepared to toss her bouquet of flowers. Well, that wasn’t true. Rosa’s mother was also sitting down, idly eyeing her daughter. It was no secret Rosalya’s mother was completely against this wedding. Them being fresh out of high school and all. Rosalya was, anyway.

Castiel wrapped his arm around Candy as they sat at their table. He, too was staring at Rosalya preparing to toss the flowers.

Although he was trying to hide it, Candy didn’t fail to see the tension in his muscles that had lingered through out the entire evening. Two notable things about Castiel: 1, he wasn’t the type of guy who enjoyed weddings, to say the least. 2, and probably the most surprising one, he was sort of superstitious.

Candy grinned and leaned in toward the side of his head, “Don’t worry, Cas. I’m pretty sure Violette’s catching those flowers.”

He smirked briefly, “Shut up, you look like a gigantic carrot in that dress.”

“Hey,” She pushed him away playfully, laughing. “I happen to like the carrot dress. Besides, who are you to talk when you look like a red headed Antonio Banderas with your hair slicked back like that?” Still laughing, she tousled his hair.

“Oh, now you’re gonna pay!” Cas broke the space between them and started tickling her sides, opening his legs as he reached out toward her.

Meanwhile, everyone counted down when Rosalya finally agreed to toss the bouquet. She was also superstitious.

“Three!”

“C-Cas!”

“Two!”

“I sa-said stop!”

“One!”

Rosalya had tossed the flowers harder than she’d intended to. Every girl before Rosa leaped to get it mid-air, but it was going too fast and was too high up.

As it started descending, it seemed like no one was going to catch the bouquet after all. That is, until it fell perfectly on Castiel’s lap.

The crowd was silent for a moment. Castiel stopped to look down, only to find the golden bouquet of flowers lodged right between his legs. Slowly, he raised his head toward Candy.

The couple stared at each other wide eyed as the cheers erupted around them, screaming, “Ask him! Ask him!”

Candy tried to hide her amusement by covering her mouth. Castiel still looked mortified beyond believe as he held the bouquet with both hands as far away from his body as he possibly could.

sentence meme based on real conversations i’ve had pt. two

“ this is bad. this is how we end up with carrot zombies. ”

“ just shut up about the joker, will you? ”

“ we all know you’re the most fucked up, okay, i say the word ‘genocide’ and— you’re laughing! see? that’s fucked up! stop laughing about genocide! ”

“ i blue shelled myself! that was my blue shell! did you see that— what— i blue shelled myself!

“ we can’t play never have i ever. i’ve done more than anyone here, i’ll get screwed over. ”

“ no one ever tells me who’s dating and who’s broken up and who’s made out with who! there’s a loop, and i’m not in it! or i’m in like, the loop outside the loop, where you hear about people dating two months after they’re already broken up! ”

“ no, no, you have to watch it. it’s ART. ”

“ i wasted precious moments of my life on this. i hope you’re happy. ”

“ so you have punched him? ”

“ punched him? one time i body slammed him to the floor and socked him in the gut while he was down. ”

“ i love him. i do. but if he makes one more comment about my outfit i’m gonna punch him in the dick. ”

“ why did you put a napkin on my head? ”

“ you’re so mad about a fictional character oh my god. oh my god. let it go. ”

“ i’m going to flunk out of my entire life. why does god hate me. ”

“ pro tip, kids: whenever you see me doing something, do the exact opposite of that. ”

“ so i got the joke from the internet! so what? not like all your jokes are your own brilliant idea. dick. ”

“ you’re not chandler. you’re not anyone from friends. you’re nobody. ”

“ holy shit dude, how are your hands shaking that much? are you okay? ”

“ my heart is doing the thing where it goes really fucking fast and my hands are jittery, but i’m okay. ”

“ listen, asswipe, which one of us won the thing? me. which one of us worked longer? me. which one of us knows what they’re fucking doing? it’s me. shut up. ”

“ i said i wasn’t going to drink and had a jägerbomb ten minutes later, so i think we all know how that went. ”

“ i’m a bitch, but at least i’m not a fake bitch. ”